


the hardest goodbye

by TheJediAreGay



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26967058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJediAreGay/pseuds/TheJediAreGay
Summary: In the days following Damian's death, Bruce has trouble coming to terms with his loss
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	the hardest goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another old story of mine that I revised and posted again! If you recognize this, it's because I posted it on FFN years ago in a series of oneshots about Damian called "Little Bird". I was young back then and my writing was kinda rough. I hope I was able to revise it to be at least marginally better this time!

It’s been three days.

Three days since Bruce has slept soundly.

Three days since he could close his eyes without being assaulted by images of his son's bloody corpse.

Three days since he last held Damian in his arms.

Three days since _it_ happened.

Everything has changed, irrevocably so. Alfred can barely look him in the eyes anymore. Bruce doesn't blame him, really. He can barely look _himself_ in the eyes. The stubble beginning to bloom on his cheeks is evidence enough of his recent disdain for mirrors.

Dick won't pick up his phone or respond to texts. He’s even tried emails. Even Barbara can't get ahold of him. If he’s willing to ignore Barbara, there’s no one who he’ll respond to. Bruce's best guess is that he's on a downward spiral of self-blame. It's something that was instilled in him from an early age.

Another fault of Bruce's.

Or maybe Dick blames Bruce. He _should_ blame Bruce. It’s his cross to bear and no one else’s.

Tim and Jason have been kind enough to pick up some patrol shifts in Gotham in Batman's absence. Not from Bruce's asking, though. The two have avoided the Manor like the plague, even more than usual. They've avoided their communicators and their cell phones. Their extra patrols in Gotham are an unspoken agreement between the two, a quiet act of selflessness.

Bruce knows he has to get back into the field soon. Even three days was far too long to shelve Batman. Criminals might start to get too bold in his absence. The longer he stays in the Manor, wallowing in his misery, the more innocent people are going to be hurt or killed. Innocent people just like...

A shudder goes through his body.

But he secretly fears going back out into the field without his Robin by his side. Not because he fears jumping into battle without a Robin there to protect him; he’s never had a problem managing on his own. What he fears is seeing his son's death become real to him. He’s afraid of going out into the night and turning to his side, expecting to see his boy walking along side him. He doesn’t want to catch a glance of Damian’s apparition in every glass window he passes on the street.

It still doesn’t feel real. He doesn’t think it can ever feel real. He’ll never stop imagining he can see a shock of curly black hair out of the corner of his eyes.

He turns onto his side, the couch creaking with his effort. He's not usually one for resting in the afternoon, but he can't seem to muster up enough energy to get up today. He's stuck in a constant state of restless limbo; not able to sleep at night, not able to move, not able to eat, not able to do much of anything but just _be_. He feels like an empty shell, like someone has stuck their hand up through his ribcage to rip out his heart.

What right does he have to be happy when he's the reason his son died? What right does _he_ have to live when his son will never see another day?

The clatter of nails on the hardwood floor signals the presence of Damian's great dane, Titus. Lately, the dog has been restless, searching for the master who will never come home.

Damian loved that dog, and the dog loved him right back. His boy had such a kind, gentle heart. No one knew it by looking at him. He hid that big heart under layers of anger and hurt. It shined through in the most unexpected ways, like the time he sent Bruce on a trip across Europe to see places his parents had been, or when he scoured the sewers for months just to find his grandmother’s pearl. Bruce thought he’d just started to make a crack in those walls his son built up. Now he’s gone, and Bruce will never know what could have been.

Bruce reaches out and pets Titus behind the ears, earning a pleased sound from the massive dog. He nudges Bruce's forearm with his wet nose, trying to snuggle closer to him like he used to do with Damian. He gives him an affectionate scratch behind the ears. The dog is one of Bruce's last tethers to his son, and he's not about to let that go. He knows Damian would never forgive him if he didn't take care of his pets in his absence.

The dog whines and gently nips at Bruce's sleeve, appearing agitated. Bruce furrows his brow, sitting up on the couch.

"What is it, boy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

Titus just continues pulling at Bruce's sleeve with his teeth, trying to pull him off the couch. Bruce finally catches on that Titus wants him to follow, most likely to Damian's room to search for him again. He knows that what Titus was searching for could never be found, but still, he humors the dog each time. Maybe there’s a part of him, a small and ridiculous part, that hopes he’ll open the door and see Damian sitting at his easel with his little nose scrunched in concentration.

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to lift himself off the couch to follow the dog. Stars swim across his vision when he finally gets to his feet. It's been days since he has used any of his training equipment. He destroyed most of it the night _it_ happened. His eating and sleeping habits have also take a turn for the worse, if that's even possible. He'll have to get back in his routine soon, or risk Alfred killing him.

Tomorrow. He'll do it tomorrow.

Titus takes him down the hall, towards the last door on the right. Bruce's heart stammers in his chest as Titus claws desperately at the heavy oak door. The big room with the tiny little bed has felt suffocating to him ever since… well, ever since.

He's terrified of going into the room once again with that stupid spark of hope in his chest and seeing Damian's too small bed, his too small clothes, his too small shoes, all of Dick's old shirts that he'll never grow into now. He's terrified of seeing his son's room and imagining what could have been, if only Damian had been allowed to grow up. Then he’s thrown back into the cruel reality of it all. But most of all, he's terrified that he'll start crying.

Because if he starts crying, he's not sure he'll ever stop.

With a sigh, he pushes the door open for Titus. The dog slithers in through the crack, and Bruce follows after him. He _expects_ to see Damian's too small bed. His too small shoes laying beside it. His too small shirt draped over a chair. But what greets him instead makes his blood boil.

Damian's bed sheets, his chair, his curtains, are all torn to shreds. Titus obviously dug into them earlier that day to search for his boy. This game of hide and seek had gone on long enough, and Titus just wanted his master back. The dog laid on the carpet, his eyes drooping in sadness.

All Bruce wanted was to capture Damian's room in the exact place where he left it, just like he did with Jason’s room. Like a picture, everything in place. As if Damian never left in the first place. Maybe that way, he could have pretended that Damian was coming back to him. But that _damn dog_ destroyed his shrine.

Bruce growls angrily.

"You stupid dog!" he yells, swiping at Titus's nose. The dog gives a pitiful whimper and backs away from Bruce's wrath, settling into the shredded curtains.

"Can't you see he's _gone_?!" Bruce continues to shout. "Damian is _dead_ , and he's not coming back! Do you get it now? _He's dead!_ "

His own words hit him like a punch to the stomach. It's the reality he's been trying so hard to avoid. His son is dead. His youngest child, his little boy, his _baby_ is dead, and it's something that he can't change. He'll have to live with it every day for the rest of his life. Every morning when he wakes up, he’ll remember that he has to live another day without his son. This kind of hurt... It doesn’t go away. He’ll just have to learn how to shoulder it and keep putting one foot in front of the other even when he desperately wants to give up and join his son, wherever he is.

He'll never get to watch Damian grow up. He'll never get to give him advice when he gets his first crush or teach him how to shave. He'll never hug him again, hold him again, tell him how proud he is to be his father just _one last time_. He'll always be burdened with the knowledge that Damian died scared, in pain, and alone on the edge of a blade. And he _wasn't there_.

He failed his son even in his final moments, and he failed as a father Damian's entire life.

Before he can stop himself, Bruce falls down to his knees. His body feels so heavy, like his limbs are made of lead. Titus slowly edges his way towards him, fearing another punishment. As a test, he nudges his wet nose against Bruce's knee.

Bruce looks up at the dog. Damian's constant companion. Though he's barely a year old, the fur on his chin seems to have turned white overnight. His eyes droop constantly; from sadness or exhaustion, Bruce can't tell. Logically, Bruce knows that a dog's concept of death is very vague, and Titus may always think Damian is coming home one day. But he wants to pretend, just for a second, that they're suffering this loss together. It makes the pain slightly less suffocating.

He reaches out, lightly petting Titus's head.

"He's gone, Titus," he whispers. Almost as if Titus can understand him, he lets out a painful howl and lays down on Bruce's lap.

When Bruce feels the tears sting at the corners of his eyes, he allows them to fall.

"Our boy is gone."


End file.
